


This Is Not Rap, This Is Not Hip Hop

by bluejoseph



Series: CANYOUSAVE [5]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Car Trips, Fluff, Happy, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, M/M, Music, Road Trips, happy tyler, maybe a lil angsty in the beginning but it gets better, the beach, the ocean, time isnt real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejoseph/pseuds/bluejoseph
Summary: He kicks his feet, curls his toes, twists his ankles as the music goes on. The lyrics are indiscernible, but it doesn’t matter. This is all about sound.





	This Is Not Rap, This Is Not Hip Hop

**Author's Note:**

> another happy one for our boy

The speed limit is thirty-five miles per hour. Tyler wishes Sarah would slow down.

Not to say that she’s driving recklessly--she’s probably the best driver he knows--but he thinks the car is moving too fast. He can barely glimpse the trees and roadside attractions out the windows before they’re far behind him. 

Speed is weird like this at times. Sometimes he feels like everything is going too fast, while at other times he thinks it’s all far too slow. Sometimes he listens to a song and it plays twice as fast as normal. His brain doesn’t seem to be good at getting a hold on time. 

Thirty-five miles per hour is too fast for him at this moment. It’s not a great number, either. Even numbers are much better. Twenty miles per hour would be nice! It would be slow enough to gaze at the world outside of the car, and he wouldn’t feel like their trip is ending too quickly.

He and Josh joined Sarah and her husband, Brendon, on a trip to the beach today. It was pleasantly chilly, with a nice breeze and the smooth fog that Tyler missed deeply at home, where it was far too hot. The almost wintery weather temporarily soothed him, and he spent hours scouring the beach for smooth stones, running the sand through his fingers, even climbing the large rocks lining the shore with Brendon and Josh. 

The trip was greatly needed, but now that it is ending--now that they are growing nearer to home, with the temperature gradually increasing and the skies brightening--Tyler is becoming a little more distressed, a little more sensitive to speed and time and sound. He finds himself tense, staring out the window and wishing he could start the day over again, just so it wouldn’t be over.

A hand gently clasps his arm, startling him out of his daze, pulling his fingers out of his mouth; he hadn’t even realized he was biting his nails. Josh’s gaze is kind but worried. “You okay?”

Tyler’s hand reaches for Josh’s, which holds his easily. “Yeah.”

“Do you want your music?”

He perks up at the idea, then nods. Josh lets go of his hand to fiddle in the back they packed, pulling out a pair of earbuds. They’re not the headphones he has at home--lovely, sound-blocking things that help him focus--but the audio quality is just right for him and they’re good for travel. 

Josh hands him the earbuds with a smile and reclines into his seat a little, appearing to be tired. They don’t hold hands again; it would get in the way. This is understood by both.

Eagerly, Tyler plugs his earbuds into his phone and turns on his playlist. The first song is perfect, makes him rock back and forth almost immediately, but the setting is all wrong. Rocking in a moving vehicle isn’t very good. He could try moving his head, his arms, his legs, but he’s embarrassed to do so in front of Brendon and Sarah, even if they know how music affects him sometimes.

Reluctantly, he skips ahead a few songs, but his spirits are lifted just as quickly. Another song, one he doesn’t need to rock to. This one starts out with a series of strange noises--toy trains tooting, toy cars honking, a perfectly timed rhythm of children’s toys--before merging them with the music. 

Energy pulses through him immediately, the natural relief this always brings. Tyler feels like his entire body is rattling, reacting with furious joy.

He kicks his feet, curls his toes, twists his ankles as the music goes on. The lyrics are indiscernible, but it doesn’t matter. This is all about sound.

The happiness is everywhere; it feels like a hug, without another person involved. Sometimes this is far superior to human affections, he thinks, although he’s sure many would disagree with him.

In any case, the unpleasant surroundings and conditions are long forgotten. Tyler rumbles and rattles and kicks his feet all the way home.


End file.
